Passerby
by Chavvah
Summary: Some paths cross. Others collide. [ZukoCentric]


**Passerby**

**Irrelevant Author's Notes**: New to the fandom. (Waves) I'm taking a long vacation from my "Legend of Zelda" writing to bring you a weird, Zuko-centric story.

This is a one-shot. THERE WILL BE NO UPDATES. Please do not give me reviews that say 'update plz!' Seriously. I'm sill getting 'update plz's for fics I finished five years ago.

I consider this a very short story for my standards, because I need to work more on my ability to make stories without rambling on for fifty pages. This is just about 30 pages. (Glee)

Please feel free to give me constructive criticism if something feels clunky. This is really my first draft; I haven't done any editing yet.

**Importan Author's Note**: This takes place right after "Cave of Two Lovers."

* * *

It did not take a genius to realize that the day's traveling was going to be worse than usual. 

The Prince of the Fire Nation had, from the beginning of their journey, displayed almost violent shows of disgust at the indignities before him. He did not take the transition from royalty to outcast gracefully, and to the chagrin of his far more patient uncle, Zuko's temper had given way when the young man had to face a new enemy: the heat.

Both Zuko and General Iroh were familiars of fire, and so through their lives of bending such an element, it would make sense that they would be better fit to endure the scorching heat of the sun.

But no intimacy with flame could prepare them for this brutal beating of sunlight.

Zuko made another frustrated noise and adjusted his hat pointlessly. His mind was so bleached from the sun that he could barely remember where they were, or where they were headed. He looked out to the depressing landscape before him, squinting to make out the dirt road through the simmering heat.

It was just a dirt road.

A long, long dirt road.

They hadn't been able to find themselves any sort of ride, even with Zuko's often unorthodox means of obtaining them. They quite simply hadn't the time--the Fire Nation could reach them at any time, so moving quickly was the most important evasive tactic they had. So, they were now doing their best to make their way into the next town as soon as possible. From what the townspeople informed them, it wasn't a long walk.

It was, instead, a treacherous and dry path, and as far as they could see, a lonely one as well. They had traveled well over five hours and had spotted no one ahead or behind them. As far as they were concerned, of course, this was good news. It meant they were not being followed.

"Well," Iroh spoke aloud, breaking the silence with a heave, "it is good exercise."

Zuko did not hear him, because his uncle had said this several times before on this same walk. It was surprising how quickly even Iroh ran out of things to discuss when they had enough travel on their hands. Once his uncle couldn't think of any other topic of discussion, he lapsed into some sort of mania in which he grasped a single thought and would repeat it over and over. Zuko never thought he would miss Iroh's inane rambling about the benefits of drinking tea, but on this day, he was proved wrong.

For the most part, though, his uncle was uncharacteristically quiet.

"You know, you don't have to wear all of that," Iroh spoke again, patting at his own excess robes, which he had slung over his shoulder.

Zuko had continued to wear his thick coat, and in vain tried to hide any recognizable body traits under layers of cloth. The prince was irritated by his uncle's carelessness--they had a close brush with the Fire Nation the other day, and though Zuko would never admit it, he was struck with a mad bout of paranoia. "I don't want anyone to see who we are," he responded adamantly.

"There's no one for _miles_ to see us."

Zuko was silent.

"I can't force you to do anything, Prince Zuko," Iroh sighed, though the manner in which he said these words somehow implied that he could. "But it would not be good if you fell ill from the heat. It would only slow us down further--"

"I'm fine."

Prince Zuko, having properly ended the dispute, anxiously licked his chapped lips, tasting the saltiness of his perspiring skin. He tried his best not to fidget, as doing so would only prove his discomfort, but his instincts were screaming at him. He disguised his impatience as a part of his stride, but it was not a convincing act. He would give his robes a frustrated flap, his uncle would look at him strangely, and then he would pretend nothing had happened.

And not only was he hot, but with the sweat dripping down his body and starting to dry, he was also getting furiously itchy.

-

It was high time to start thinking of something else.

-

Recent events had not been encouraging, to say in the least. Azula had shown her face once more, enticed him with her silver tongue and words of "family," but to his shock, his sister had deceived him, only speaking of those things to have him let his guard down. Now he was not only an exile, but a declared criminal. He felt his entire life unexpectedly turn: he had been chasing after a chance to return to his own nation for years, and the Fire Nation had long pushed him away. Now his homeland was after _him_.

At times, he wondered how his father played out in this regard. Zuko had always regarded Azula and his father as two separate entities, though they undeniably composed that which he missed the most: his family. Zuko could not decide if one should be trusted over the other. He did not know if his father truly wanted him locked up and out of the way or if this entire game was merely Azula's usual lies. He wouldn't put it past her.

But he wouldn't put it past his father, either.

He didn't like to think of his father that way. If he didn't respect his father's opinion, after all, why would he even bother with all of this? What good would honor be if he didn't have any respect for the very man who sired him? He wanted to please his father, make him proud, allow him to at last be free of the shame that Zuko brought upon his own people.

There were times that he doubted himself, and even, to his occasional horror, doubted his father. Zuko was keenly aware of his weakness--he had this childish heart that would beat too fast at times, that would lurch and strain when confronted, and would ache when watching the suffering of others. It was an affliction that his father repeatedly warned him about, and Zuko understood the dangers of such a weakness, so he did his best to repress those tender emotions, at times savagely beating them out of himself. He would sometimes believe himself to have conquered them, but his better judgment knew it to be impossible. Just as his sister was born to succeed, he had been born with this horrible weakness.

The curse was the thing that made him feel so vulnerable and uncontrollable, and he forever lived in fear of this _thing, _this torrent that would abruptly rise up in him and cause insurmountable damage. It had already cost him his life as the Prince of the Fire Nation.

It was an unbridled monster full of anger, despair, passion...

His mind told him that these feelings were called a "conscience," if only because it made him furious in the sight of injustice, but if it was indeed the conscience, then the conscience must be a frail thing indeed, for he had almost tortured it out of existence. Whatever demand it made, he could easily match with his desire to belong to his family. He knew that this thing would only get in the way of his goals.

He couldn't deny, though, that he always felt these unconscious objections were true. They were borne in his heart, after all, and never quite left him, and as these morals and weaknesses continued to pile up and contradict his father, he was increasingly exposed to the quandary of choice. He knew that family was deeply important to him. He was in a moral obligation to value his family.

And at the same time, he had another obligation, one of wild rebellion against the madness before him...

-

These were the things that made him weary and unsure of his mission.

_- _

_The mission_. Whatever that was worth now that he was an exile... It was supposed to be all about the Avatar. However, that, too, had been growing in Zuko's mind, for up until now, he had seen the Avatar just as his father had: it was a commodity, an item to be obtained, or at best, prey to be hunted. It was impersonalized, so Zuko had never dreamed of thinking about how the Avatar felt, or who the boy's friends were, or that the Avatar was a "boy" at _all_.

He was now terrified by the possibility that the very person he was trying to capture was _alive_ and _breathing_; the Avatar was alive, just like those Fire Nation soldiers that the war-mongers were so willing to sacrifice; just like Song, that village girl with a scorched leg; just like his _mother_; just like, just like...

-

His daunting thoughts were rudely interrupted by the foul squawking of an ostrich-horse.

Zuko had been so busy thinking that, while he was tuned out, his uncle had been paying close attention to a nearing covered carriage, led by two of the ostrich beasts. The carriage was heading their direction and closing in, but did not seem to be in any hurry, so momentarily at least, Iroh did not seem concerned.

Zuko, too, only gave the distant carriage a single glance, but was far more worried about it.

"Zuko," his uncle inquired deftly, "what are you twitching about for?"

The prince gave his uncle a startled look before realizing that the man had noticed his uneasy composure. "We should go faster," Zuko said, picking up his pace.

Iroh looked again to the carriage and shook his head. "I don't see why."

Zuko was in no condition to think straight--the day's travel and the troubling events of these past few days had taken their toll on his temporary sanity. He was alarmed by his uncle's callous acceptance of this approaching danger.

_If uncle wants to stay behind, let him!_

But this attempt to speed up succeeded only for a moment. Zuko gazed out into the seemingly endless horizon, and found that there wasn't the faintest hint of a town before him. The wilderness pressed on him from all around, and after some reconsideration, he found that escape was not a feasible option.

Feeling defeated, Zuko huffed and returned to Iroh's side, continuing their steady pace. He tried to experiment with Iroh's obvious optimism, reasoning that the carriage could, in fact, contain no more than fellow travelers. But even his own thoughts didn't prove convincing. The Fire Nation's influence was far-reaching; all were suspect.

-

The carriage was a rustic, aching monstrosity. The creaking of its joints became all the more apparent as it closed in, and because of its battered appearance, the two were surprised that it remained intact. It wheeled precariously onward, and the two ostrich-horses' brisk paces seemed to only further jostle its fragile framework.

The carriage's unimpressive state was what eventually led to Zuko's indifference. If the people in pursuit of them could only access a ride as poor as that, well... The two exiles had little to worry about. The carriage would probably fall apart in the stress of abducting them.

Almost miraculously, the brittle vehicle survived the trip and was about to pass them by the wayside. Zuko was insistent on denying it eye contact, but the temptation proved too great, and so he peeked through the corner of his eye.

His slip was met with a pair of calculating eyes. A strange-looking man was peering out through the carriage door, studying them both carefully. Now that the carriage was so close, Zuko realized how unnaturally large the vehicle was. Most carriages were large enough to carry two or three people. This looked almost large enough to house a family.

Zuko overcame his curiosity and turned his gaze back to the path. The carriage did not stop or even slow down at the sight of the two--it continued uninterrupted. This bade well for their cause, so Zuko allowed himself some relief.

Iroh, too, looked less tense, and opened his mouth, as if ready to say something, but a few yards ahead, the carriage shuddered to a halt. They could hear two voices going back and forth; one of the voices was clearly the man who drove the ostrich-horses, while the other was warbling from the inside. It sounded like a squabble, and as far as they were concerned, it was none of their business. The two exiles were about to hurriedly walk past it, but then, unexpectedly, the man from inside the carriage threw open the door and barked at them.

"Hey!"

The sudden motion startled the travelers, but they quickly regained their composure and turned to their verbal assailant.

Satisfied to have their attention, the voice asked in a thick foreign accent, "How long have you been walking out here?"

Zuko looked away, annoyed that someone would have the nerve to ask such a question. General Iroh, though a bit confused, bowed politely and explained, "Since before daybreak. Why do you ask?"

The voice made a disbelieving noise. Zuko thought they were wasting time with a petty conversation, and impatiently folded his arms.

The brightness of the sun made it impossible to see the face of the man inside, but Iroh was doing his best to look comfortable with the talk.

"You have no supplies with you, nor a means of transportation," the voice flatly observed.

"A complication arose at our last destination," Iroh said. This was true enough; it was the dilemma they were presently dealing with, since they lost the only supplies they were able to gather to an unexpected raid of the area. They only barely escaped, and it was too risky to return for their items. All they had were the clothes and weapons on their back.

The voice hesitated again, but finally a decision was made. "What if I offered you a ride?"

Zuko was not content with being silent any longer, and so he attempted to end their conversing. "No," he growled. "We don't need your help."

Iroh winced at his nephew's tone and was going to produce damage control, but the man inside was only amused with Zuko's manner.

"I think you should reconsider. It's going to take quite a while to get to the next town by foot. I could get you there before nightfall."

"How do we know we can trust you?"

It was perhaps not the most productive question to ask when one is trying to hide one's identity, but the man ignored this accusation and turned his attention back to Iroh. "I have some _baijiu _that I'm dying to share."

"_Baijiu_?" Iroh's senses immediately perked at the mention of the liquor. "I have not had any _baijiu_ in years."

It was then that Zuko knew the ride was to be accepted.

-

There was no light in the carriage, and the black walls of the interior made it even more difficult to see. To their good fortune, however, the shade was quite cool. Iroh made himself at home without hesitation, and Zuko organized himself firmly in a corner and shut himself out from his surroundings.

The man turned and clucked something at his driver, and the vehicle heaved, groaned, and at last set off again.

"I'm sorry about this transportation's... Condition. It is a beastly thing, hmm?" The man timidly set his hand out to pat the carriage's broad side, but barely brushed it with his fingertips, acting as though any firmer of a touch could cause the thing to topple.

Though Zuko did not know where the man's accent originated, he could feel his eyes adjusting to the light, and was able to make out some of the man's figure. The man's skin was a deep tone of brown, and his hair was a slick, oily mop of black, but these were not unusual traits in the Earth Kingdom. There was something else, a fold of flesh that didn't seem accounted for, and as Zuko tried to decipher what he was seeing, the man turned to him and smiled.

"Boy, aren't you hot in all of that?"

Zuko didn't appreciate the way the man addressed him, and so he refused to answer.

The man, on his second look, actually didn't look much older than himself. Though the man's face was slightly stouter and prickled with facial hair, there was a youthful life to him. Zuko also noticed what was wrong with the man's face once he leaned into the light--the left side of the man's face was enveloped with pink and oozing flesh, a gash that was clearly infected and gnawing away at the side of his head. The infection trickled from the man's upper forehead and down to his throat, where the sore continued to fester and grow.

And in the midst of this horrific flesh wound was the man's left eyeball, which rolled about lifelessly in his eye socket. It, too, secreted puss and dry blood.

However the man received the wound, he had obviously not taken care of it.

"Why, look at the coincidence!" the man cheerfully noted once he realized that Zuko was eying his injury. "You've got a bit of a scratch on your face, too. How did you get yours? Can you still see with that eye?"

The man's tone was like a curious child's, and this unnerved the banished prince far more than the question itself. He couldn't understand why anyone would be so intent on discussing their own disfigurements--his scar was a mark of _shame_ to him, yet this man seemed to have a pride in his.

Iroh, knowing Zuko's unwillingness to speak on the issue, redirected the conversation. "Say, you offered some _baijiu_ before. That's quite the delicacy in a time of war. What kind do you have for us?"

The man was apparently easily distracted, and so he forgot his own questions and looked beneath his seat. There, a lean wooden box sat collecting dust. He delicately presented the box before them, but the gentleness he used on it was a decorative one--the bottles inside were safely tucked between clumps of hay.

"Ah... I have _fen jiu_ and _shuang zheng jiu_," the man explained, and with his accent, managed to grossly mispronounce each name.

"I think some _fen jiu_ would do nicely."

"I didn't know you drink spirits," Zuko observed icily, still pressing his forehead against the door.

Iroh defended himself from the underlying message of his nephew's words. "Only once in a while."

The bottles clinked and rattled as they clashed and bounced. Small, shallow cups were being uncovered, and the man's attention turned again to Zuko. "Hey, boy," the man addressed. At first, Zuko would not answer, leading the man to call him again. "Boy!"

"I'm not a _boy_. I have a name," Zuko corrected bitterly.

The man opened the bottle of _fen jiu_ mutely, then waved a hand in Zuko's direction, as though permitting something. Zuko just gave him a dirty look.

"...Which is...?"

The man was asking his name.

Zuko slumped back and remained silent.

"I would gladly call you by name if you tell me what it is."

"My nephew is not much for talking," Iroh apologized.

The man seemed unperturbed by this. He smiled whimsically, produced the bottle of _fen jiu_, and poured some of the white liquor into a dish. The rich fragrance of alcohol carried easily in the humidity of the air, but Zuko, being young, had only few contacts with alcohol, all of which were ceremonial. The concept of actually drinking it for _enjoyment_ was alien to him. He had seen older men indulge in such things, and never understood the fun of it. It made men disconnected, vulnerable, and above all, stupid.

"Boy, do you want some? It may be a little strong for you."

Zuko did not want to touch it. "Of course I do," he insisted.

Iroh politely declined to comment.

-

They were both served shots of the liquor, and Zuko delayed the inevitable consumption of his serving as long as he could.

The man had already thrown his back and was busily lighting a pipe for a smoke. Zuko tried to look to Iroh for some sort of support, but his uncle gave him a clear 'you-asked-for-it' look.

There is a reason that _baijiu i_s also commonly referred to as 'Chinese vodka'--the particular kind he was staring into was far more potent than the cheap rice wine with which he was more acquainted. An unexperienced drinker could drink rice wine by the bottle; _baijiu_ could kill a drunkard.

Iroh took his, coughing and pounding at his chest, commenting on its 'rich flavor' to flatter their host. Zuko mentally cursed. He was the last one now, and he could feel their eyes as they waited for him. He shifted, poised for the drink, and concentrated on his strong thirst.

He knew taking a cautious sip would ruin the whole effect of the act, so he prepared to take it as they did: by taking it all in one gulp. Suddenly this tiny drink looked like an ocean.

He didn't want to waste anymore time. Sitting there while they watched made him feel like a spectacle, so he ended it as quickly as he could. He sat up straight and thrust it to his lips.

He tried to cease breathing through his nose, hoping that not smelling it would make the taste more bearable. It didn't help much. The drink was disgusting and, from what he could tell, strong enough to knock out an ostrich-horse.

It was a quick few seconds, but he forced himself to swallow, fighting against his hiccuping gag reflex. Then, the liquid was gone, though the taste still tainted every corner of his mouth. He concealed a shiver of disgust.

"Are you alright?" the man asked snidely.

Zuko spat anxiously in reply, afraid that the host had seen through his guise. "What are you talking about? It was very..."

His eyelids twitched and he handed back the dish in exasperation. He couldn't think of a good lie, so he dropped off his compliment there, forever keeping his opinion on the horrific experience a mystery.

The man was smoking now and Zuko tried not to choke on the ensuing cloud.

-

The alcohol was put away--one shot was considered a sufficient drink, and Zuko was thankful for it--and the man tried to ask if they were hungry or otherwise thirsty. Though they were, they did not accept anymore gifts. They were intent on making it to the next town without too much help, as they knew that in the future they would not have this luxury.

Zuko had again placed himself in the corner of the carriage, sulking and sweating. He was increasingly disturbed by the looks he was getting from the stranger--the man was watching him intently, and would at times try to speak to him. Zuko would always resist the attempts, or end them quickly with one-word replies.

He had not examined the man very closely at first, so he only noticed the obvious wound on the side of the man's face. In the new light and movement, however, he also noticed a missing ear and several missing fingers.

The cut-up stranger straightened his posture.

"How about we introduce ourselves?" the man suggested. "I'm Rais."

So the man had a name--and it was not a native one, either. Zuko could hear his uncle mutter something incoherent, but did not bother to ask him to clarify.

"You've been looking at my wounds for a while now--are you curious?"

_No,_ Zuko thought, but he knew saying it aloud would not stop Rais from continuing. Rais was proud of his disfigurement and was set on explaining it to them.

"I got these all quite a while ago. I had a friend who grew angry with me, cornered me in a street, stabbed me... Oh... Seven times, was it?"

Rais puffed some smoke and looked longingly into space. He acted as though the recollection were a pleasant one, the kind of memory one brings up at an anniversary or celebration. He pointed out his wounds like they were battle scars earned in a time of war as opposed to the result of a drunken feud.

Neither understood his eagerness over the traumatic event, and were less than enthused about his story. But Rais seemed quite content with his story-telling abilities and would have continued to spin tales if his driver hadn't interrupted.

"You forgot to tell them about your 'relationship' with that 'friend.'"

The comment came clear through the wooden planks, and so Rais responded with a fury of foreign cursing. He struck the back of his seat, rattling the wall that the driver was leaning on from the outside. "Hold your tongue! Disgusting man!"

The whole fiasco began and ended so abruptly that Zuko could not make anything of it. Just when he tried to understand the argument, Rais spat out another swirl of smoke and went quiet.

"He's a disgusting man," he apologized to them. "I should fire him."

Rais, upset by the brief fight, was prepared to shut down and cease speaking.

But Iroh was puzzled by something. "'Rais'..."

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. I just know I've heard that name somewhere before."

Rais frowned. He looked aggravated by this news as well, and so he tried to continue the previous discussion where it left off. "So, I have introduced myself. It is your turn now."

Zuko thought that offering a false name would keep Rais from pestering him any longer, so he produced the same surname he pulled on another stranger. "I'm Li."

"'Li,' hmm?" Rais pursed his lips, tapping his pipe at his mouth. He gave the two men a wildly emphatic glance, then scolded, "How long did it take you to make _that_ one up, _Prince Suko_?"

Zuko was too bewildered by this revelation to mind the mispronunciation. He would have jumped to his feet if he hadn't thought the move would break the floor beneath him.

"What do you think I am, dumb as a post?" Rais smiled warmly and turned to Iroh. "It is an honor to finally meet you, General Iroh. I have heard so much about you--your father did enjoy going on about you."

Iroh uneasily accepted the compliment, but before Zuko could barrage the man with questions, he asked, "...And how exactly did you know him?"

Rais was so absorbed in his own story that he didn't seem to notice the question. "You do the bending with the fire, don't you?" Rais arbitrarily spoke, whipping his free hand about as an attempted imitation. "You are both very lucky. I can't do any of the bending arts, not with my background..."

-

Iroh suddenly brightened, and said aloud, "Ah, I remember now!" Iroh at first looked excited that his memory had finally served him, but his recognition led to a sudden snag. "But... That does not make any sense."

Zuko snorted with frustration--he did not understand what was emerging. "Uncle, what is it?" he goaded impatiently.

"Rais?"

The scraggly host smugly returned, "Yes?"

"You're supposed to be dead. The Fire Nation declared you dead five years ago."

"The Fire Nation's definition of 'dead' is open to interpretation," Rais explained calmly, inhaling another cloud of intoxicating smoke.

"Uncle, you _know_ this guy?"

"No," Iroh clarified, giving Rais an increasingly perplexed look. "I have only heard his name once. He is an exile... One who disappeared shortly after your father came to power. This 'Rais' was rumored to be a militaristic prodigy."

The man laughed heartily at hearing Iroh's unintentional joke. "Ah! That is still going around, is it? Your people have a terrible time with grudges, don't they?"

But Rais' speech made no sense to either of them. His enthusiasm drained by their empty looks, Rais started to contemplate his explanation for them.

"I never thought I would actually meet either of you," he confessed. "So how to tell you about this?"

"How did you recognize us anyway?" Zuko interjected.

Rais shrugged. "Don't you know about all the 'wanted' signs with your faces? Besides, the news reached my ears a while ago that you two were around here. Oh, you can imagine the excitement I felt, when I heard this news!"

This only made Zuko more uncomfortable with the entire encounter. The man had been _looking_ for them, deliberately anticipating this meeting perhaps years beforehand. Zuko could not help but feel stalked. Maybe his uncle was flattered by such attention, but he was certainly _not_.

"Allow me to explain myself, hmm? I come from an island, very mountainous, very isolated... We did not have much contact with the outside, you see. But the Fire Nation took over and my village's existence was threatened. My dear mother, being a notorious negotiator, bargained for our family's well-being. She gave me to Fire Lord Azulon, saying, 'this boy is a genius! He has led our tribe in battles for years and we have never lost!' But, ah... I was only fourteen. I did not know these things..."

"Your mother just goes and exaggerates like that when your life is in the balance?" Zuko asked skeptically. This did not sound like typical motherly behavior to him.

"'Exaggerates'? Ha! She was not exaggerating, _Suko_. She was lying, lying, lying... I had never planned a battle in my life. So, she taught me big words, told me how to use them, and I would speak all these things to the Fire Lord, and he was impressed. I was saying nothing at all and they thought I was a prodigy! Two years, I did this!"

Rais was finding the recollection enormously hilarious, and it was difficult to blame him. The fact that a fourteen-year-old had somehow managed to speak military jargon convincingly enough to fool the Fire Nation was undeniably odd.

"And you know... The first battle I planned was successful, completely on accident, and from that moment on they completely believed in me. I would speak a lot of nonsense, but they would always pretend to understand, because no Fire Nation general will admit to not understanding what a _little boy_ is saying. I was the biggest fraud they had to deal with--and you know? They never really realized it. It was all nonsense; I made it all up. But they never managed to pin me for it. They had other, bigger issues... They didn't have time to decide if a little boy was really the genius he was supposed to be."

"If they never caught you, why are you out in the middle of nowhere like this?" Zuko asked.

"Your grandfather passed away, and your father took his place. Ozai was far more suspicious of foreigners, and didn't appreciate my presence."

"So you were exiled," Iroh concluded, nodding with understanding.

But Rais contradicted him bluntly. "What? No, not at all! I quit and left. I know when I'm not wanted."

The man spoke of this so callously that Zuko could only look on in horror. "You _left_?"

Rais didn't seem to understand the weight of his statement, so he continued to banter about it like a casual event. "Yes... They sent out troops to try to hunt me down, but a year later they received word that I was stabbed to death." He grimaced at remembering the mishap. "A clumsy oversight, don't you think?"

"But that's impossible," Zuko scoffed. "No one can just _quit_--"

Rais looked at him with a degree of shock, offended that the Prince had never heard of his plight. "And yet they have before me. Haven't you heard of _Je-ong Je-ong_? _Sheh_?"

"Jeong Jeong and Che," Iroh acknowledged knowingly.

"Who?"

"The first two men to leave the Fire Nation Army alive." Iroh padded down his clothing miserably, trying to distract himself from the heated topic. "It is something... Not often mentioned in our family. Your father does not like to discuss failures."

This, at least, Zuko was familiar with. He knew well that certain things were never spoken about--certain battles, people, and events. His father seemed to believe that ignoring mistakes could produce a flawless nation, or that by not paying attention to certain controversies, they would disappear. It was then that his father would act like a defensive adolescent, fighting off the slightest criticism for fear of being exposed as the imperfect person he was. Father never had time for imperfect people; they were either successful, like Azula, or they were failures, like Zuko.

Zuko wondered if his father ever thought of him anymore. Perhaps his father had deemed him too lowly to even devote his mind to. Perhaps he would not waste time by thinking of his imperfect son...

-

Rais seemed prepared to move on. Zuko pretended to do so, but his mind was preoccupied by this information. He was surprised by the level of secrecy these things possessed--he had never been told that leaving the Fire Nation willingly was physically possible. The only tales he ever heard of that nature ended with the slaughter of the escapee. No one was supposed to last very long when running from the Fire Nation, an awareness that had been haunting Zuko as of late. He and Iroh had been running for some time as well, and already the Fire Nation had made dangerously close scrapes.

But somehow this man ceased to serve the Fire Nation at sixteen--near his own age, the prince realized suddenly--and now sat there looking quite content and alive, six years later. Rais had been granted the rare gift of obscurity: few knew he existed, and even fewer knew he was living. Zuko and Iroh did not have this advantage. Many knew their faces; many could identify them by the alerts posted in villages. They were still alive to the people and fresh in the Fire Nation's psyche.

Rais was a forgotten fraud, living in a fragile state of being a publicly-declared dead man. To support such an existence must require a strong sense of subtlety, Zuko thought. One could never declare a name, origin, or status--one could never be free again. However, this man, though imprisoned by his death, was happy and at peace. He enjoyed living out his pseudo-existence in his little corner of reality. It was a joke to him--just another trick to pull on a hostile world.

-

Zuko thought of the coincidences involved. This man was also an exile, cursed to avoid the Fire Nation forever. He had a physical mark of a different nature, but it was a wound at the left eye, just like his own. Rais had even left the Fire Nation at the age of sixteen, about Zuko's current age.

He could not help but look at this man and wonder if, in six years, this was his fate. Was he going to be dead, non-existent? Was he going to drift endlessly from town to town in a cheap cart, sipping alcohol and babbling madly about his disgruntled past to complete strangers?

-

"You know, no offense," Rais spoke suddenly to Iroh, "but your brother is not a remarkably talented dictator. After working with Azulon--well, I think at least he had some sense to him. He knew how to keep a nation _motivated, _yeah?"

Zuko tried to tune out. He didn't want to think about his father or the pointless politics behind his rule.

"And, well... Ozai so far has acted like he has nothing better to do than arbitrarily enforce rules and genocide. He doesn't have the vision or, I suppose, the _nuance_ of your father. Just a bored tyrant bashing his power around indiscriminately..."

"Don't speak about my father that way," Zuko snarled once he tired of Rais's mouth.

"What do you care? He burned and exiled you--"

"He's still my father." Zuko gave him a sullen glare. "_So just. Don't. Talk about him._"

Rais snorted. "A lot of good _that_ sentiment has done you. I heard that you were both declared enemies only days ago."

"You don't have any right--!"

Iroh had to intervene before Zuko was any more tempted to burn their host to a crisp. "Zuko, calm down. If that is what he thinks--"

"He should keep his thoughts to himself!" Zuko fumed. He could feel confusion and anger double up inside of him, distorting his perceptions and exaggerating the magnitude of the argument. He harbored too many contradictory hostilities against his father and uncle, too many conflicting feelings of respect...

His explosion took the form of a son avenging his slandered bloodline.

"And what do you think you're doing, sitting there and letting him talk about my father like that? You're acting like you agree with him!"

"Some of it is true," Iroh admitted, "but that is not the point, Zuko."

"It's because he became the Fire Lord instead of you, isn't it?"

-

Before Iroh could respond, the entire carriage thundered with an ear-splitting crash and splintering of wood. They were all thrown forward by the unknown force, and then the distinct noise of a disconnecting back wheel sent them flying backwards again. The carriage finally went still, and they sat breathless in a crookedly-supported carriage, hearing the loose spindles whirring from the shock of being broken. For that moment, they were silent and looked at each other in bewilderment.

Rais tried to peer out the door towards the back, but could see nothing from where he sat. He was the first to make any noise. "Well then," he commented shakily. He shifted his feet, trying to stand while the carriage leaned sharply in where the wheel had broken off. "I think I should see what's going on here."

Zuko and Iroh were perfectly silent. They knew well what could have caused the blow and were disinclined to give themselves away. Rais hopped down from the covered carriage, shuffling in the dusty road and turning to the back. He started to walk, and soon disappeared from their sight.

The two exiles sat tensely, holding their breaths lest the noise interrupt any crucial noises from outside. The two ostrich-horses began to bellow in panic, and a cloud of dust arose in the midst of their distress. The carriage rattled as the beasts yanked and strained their bits. But even with the racket going on ahead of them, the two sat absolutely still, listening.

-

"Ah, sirs! May I ask what are you doing?"

There was a muffled array of voices, and the two could make out the sound more ostrich-horses braying.

A soldier spoke clearly over the rest. "We had some reports that you've been causing trouble."

Rais feigned ignorance. "And why would that be?"

"That's not my problem. We're under orders to arrest you."

-

Zuko turned to where he presumed his uncle to be in order to request they stay out of it--to his irritation, however, Iroh had already vanished from his seat. Zuko was ready to sit the fight out, and only because he didn't feel obliged to help an obviously disturbed man. He had probably been committing crimes of various sorts and deserved to be arrested.

But then he heard Rais's voice, patiently surrendering to his superiors. "That is all right. Please, sirs, do not worry, I am unarmed; I cannot bend--"

"Good."

The scuffle erupted with a violent flurry of fire, and Zuko was shaken from his state of apathy.

_Fire Nation soldiers._

-

He knew better than to assume he would be able to ignore their aggression.

* * *

The lieutenant of the small military unit was quite pleased with the progression of the arrest. Whoever this troublemaker was, he was defenseless and highly disposable. He grinned as his unit rushed at the victim. They hadn't had any fun in a while. The Earth Kingdom was a particularly desolate and boring place to patrol, and any available entertainment was appreciated. 

The had just left the nearby town to find this carriage coming their direction, and knew of the man inside--it was news they received from the previous town, probably where the carriage was coming from. The man had been causing problems among women and men alike with his vile behavior.

The man had already been dealt a blast of fire to the torso to keep him from escaping, and though he now wriggled furiously from the pain, he was not going anywhere.

The Fire Nation soldiers pounced immediately to tie the offender up. But even at this sensitive moment, the criminal was strangely passive. There was no worry to his face, disfigured horribly though it was. The lieutenant pulled his ostrich-horse a cautious, single step backward, keeping a clear view of the operation. Criminals who didn't fight back almost always had something up their sleeve.

He heard an uncanny stir of commotion from the trashed carriage. His concentration was broken; he snapped up to see the figure of a stout old man wearing Earth Kingdom clothing standing squarely on the dirt road.

He blinked once, twice. Was that really who he thought it was?

"General Iroh?"

The renowned Fire Nation general assumed his battle stance without hesitation.

The lieutenant smirked at this surprise guest. "How am I not surprised that a traitor like you is in the company of scum?"

"Let him go, lieutenant."

But the Fire Nation lieutenant was not interested in cutting a deal. He turned to his men, interrupting their activities with an enthusiastic announcement. "Men, not only have we found a nuisance, but now we're about to capture the great General Iroh!" He spat and dismounted his ostrich-horse. "Two-for-one. It's our lucky day."

-

"It's about to get unlucky."

The young prince appeared behind his uncle, similarly in stance and primed for the fight.

"I suggest you do as he says."

Zuko had finally come to his senses and discarded his heavy coat and hat, and so now his identity was fully unveiled for the soldiers to see. He could feel the rising heat of the Fire Nation soldiers' temperaments, but the heat no longer disturbed him. He was ready.

The sun was high, promising the various firebenders plenty of ferocity; Zuko heard an ostrich-horse being unhitched from behind him and realized that the driver was making his escape. He pressed cautiously to his uncle's back and surveyed the area. The next town was just over the horizon.

He understood the driver's impulse to run, but could not help but feel irritated.

_Coward_.

-

The lieutenant hesitated for only a moment, then motioned to a single soldier, who snatched Rais into a choke-hold and dragged their hostage a safe distance away. At least for now, they didn't want their prize to be damaged any further.

Zuko did not particularly care about the man's safety, but after some thought, volunteered himself for the task. "Uncle, do you think you can handle them?"

General Iroh grinned confidently at the array of novice firebenders. "Of course."

Zuko was not at all worried about his uncle--he trusted his judgment and took up the far more delicate task of trying to wrestle Rais from the situation. The soldier who held Rais had disappeared behind the group and it was up to him to work his way past the protective barrier of men.

The other soldiers tried to block off Zuko's approach towards the hostage, but Iroh was too skilled to allow it; a single crack of electricity correctly redirected their priorities.

The lieutenant was screaming at them. "Never mind that one!"

Once the fire started to fly, the heat was approaching unbearable, and the air broiled fiercely. A few didn't listen to the lieutenant's warning and lunged for him, but those few did not last long against Zuko's wrath and plummeted to the ground. He did not have time for these weak people.

Zuko broke past the cluster with ease and charged for his target. He could instantly tell what problem he would face in trying to recover Rais: the soldier holding him was facing Zuko as though ready for battle, but was firmly keeping his hostage to his chest. This body shield would make the rescue far more difficult. Firebending against his opponent would be unthinkable as long as he was trying to keep Rais from further harm. Even the soldier's firebending could burn Rais from the close contact.

Zuko snorted in frustration but did not let the soldier out of his range. He took a few aggravated steps closer, but the soldier merely sidled to his left. After a few moments of such behavior, Zuko realized that the soldier was trying to edge the standoff to a different location. With no way to draw the soldier closer, the prince was forced to follow the man's lead.

The standoff was long and silent, aside from Rais's occasional moans of pain and strained chatter. Zuko was not listening to his speech, and angrily wished that Rais had a talent other than running his mouth. Even if Rais had mediocre fighting skills, he may have been able to make this easier for Zuko. However, Rais stood helplessly under the soldier's grip and did not appear to have any strategy of escape.

Zuko's anger was also directed at this soldier's particular cowardice. Using a unique strategy to gain the upper hand was a great skill--but using a human shield was not a "strategy." It was nothing short of cheating and Zuko despised it. He also did not have much respect for those who used firebending so freely against those who did not have such abilities.

"Is this how you get your kicks?" Zuko lobbied aloud, tensing his stance. "By hurting innocent civilians when they surrender, then using them to protect yourself?"

The soldier's mask disguised any facial expressions, but the man chuckled and replied, "You call _this_ guy 'innocent'?"

Zuko for a brief moment had stopped watching where he was going and felt his foot slide without warning. He jerked back into balance as swiftly as possible and frantically looked for what caused his loss of footing. There, just inches from his foot, the ground abruptly dipped into a deep, jagged ravine.

He blinked, took another step away from the cliff's edge, and wondered how he had come so close to missing its existence. It was obvious to him now that the soldier was trying to make the fight even more precarious, but he couldn't understand how something so enormous missed his sight.

For that matter, he had felt a little strange for some time now, and his head was buzzing and distracting him. He hadn't been able to grasp his environment, and concentration was growing more difficult to maintain.

Zuko ignored the funny feelings in his body, shook himself, and tried to regain his composure after his brush with what would have been a gruesome death.

The more the situation escalated, the less of an opportunity Zuko saw before him. The soldier kept close to the terrain, wielding its presence like a weapon. Zuko, being unable to use his fighting prowess, had to make due with what was usually a final resort: talking it out.

"Just give him up," Zuko bargained. "You need him alive."

The soldier harrumphed with laughter and twisted his free hand into Rais' shirt collar. "Our orders weren't that specific."

There was a threatening breath and step, but no movement was made.

"Do I look stupid?" the soldier finally hissed, slipping farther and farther from his group, clutching to his victim. Zuko eased onward and was forced to listen to what the man had to offer. "Look, I know better than to think I can beat you. If you let me go, I'll go, and he'll come with me, captured but very much alive. But I swear to you if you try and pull anything, he gets a trip down the hole."

Rais's airway was being roughly obstructed by the grip of the soldier's arm, and though he could not see what the 'hole' had in store for him, he assumed correctly that the fall would not be one he would likely survive.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" the soldier begged of him. There was a sudden, new element to the procedure--one that Zuko hadn't anticipated. This soldier was asking him to spare his life.

The lieutenant caught sight of their position, and seeing his scout pulling back inch by inch, ordered him to stay put. In that moment, all the remaining attention was diverted--a soldier was betraying not only his own group, but was holding the hostage's life in the balance of Zuko's decision.

"What do you think you're doing?" the lieutenant howled.

Iroh had laid waste to the rest of the regiment with ease, and was ignoring the lieutenant's desperation. "Zuko," he reasoned with him from a distance, his words echoing with exasperation. "Listen to me! Step away right now!"

Zuko was feeling so dizzy, so ill. It was as though the ground was no longer the limit--his emotions were steadily being unleashed in a rabid succession, and there, his breath grew heavy, his head started to pound--

He did not know what sickness was ailing him, but he could easily identify the violent pulsing of his heart. It was his curse welling up inside of him, and just as it always had done, it robbed him of his sanity and restraint. He could only think of this man's cruelty, underhandedness, cowardice...

He could not heed his uncle's advice in this moment, and so he obeyed the flash of ivory that sprang alive in his memory: _never give up without a fight_.

_Crash_.

Rais was swearing profusely, and the soldier gave a panicked shriek of pain.

The streak of fire had struck the soldier too quickly for the man to even consider dodging--Zuko's fist flew straight over Rais's head (the foreigner was fortunately a short man compared to his captor) and met the Fire Nation soldier's masked face. The flame erupted into a blast of terrifying heat, still scourging Rais's head and effectively consuming the soldier's face.

Zuko tried to gather his disoriented wits and grab for the captive, but his reaction was strangely delayed, and so the injured soldier responded to the assault by giving Rais a forceful shove over the cliff's edge.

The two fighters stood silent for a moment, their faces inches from each other, and their eyes meeting. That was all they could bring themselves to do; neither could quite grasp how suddenly the hostage's life had been extinguished. Rais had stumbled and disappeared into the pit, and only the sounds of flesh and bone rolling and breaking against stone remained.

Zuko was tempted to look, but something in his will warned him against it, so he only stood there, startled and unmoved. The illness was readily worse now. He could feel a cold sweat creep along his chilled flesh, the fresh beating of his childishly weak heart. He could feel it: his conscience--his anomaly--was screaming.

Had Rais really just been _killed_ in front of him?

The soldier knew that his fate was set, though in his panic, he still tried to flee. Turning his back on another firebender was his last mistake. Zuko did not hesitate to deal him with a fierce blast of fire, lunged for him, and before he could really think about what he was doing, he flung the soldier off of the same cliff and listened intently to the grating sounds of rocks destroying his body.

The lieutenant, having seen the entire escapade, was ready to leave; Iroh took a practical approach to the matter, however, and merely knocked the lieutenant out from behind.

"Zuko! We must leave _now!_"

Zuko was stuck, incomprehension binding him still, and he did not stir until Iroh approached him and nudged his arm.

"Zuko, are you okay?" his uncle demanded, knowing this was far from the prince's usual behavior. "You look pale."

Zuko trudged and turned around, swaying and stumbling as he tried to pace down the road. He was trying to assure Iroh that he felt fine, but the ground was spinning in a most irritating fashion, and his body was rocking with imbalance. He opened his mouth, and all that came out was a heavy groan.

Iroh didn't quite know what to make of this, but looked down the road all the same. "Well, the town is right there. It shouldn't take long to get there."

They untied the remaining ostrich-horse from the carriage and set out for the distant cluster of huts and lights. Their hearts had fallen, and the smell of death was permeating through their senses, but they had experience in such matters, though both were well-aware that some things could never become normal. Iroh had bore witness to the fall of countless civilizations, and still, destruction maintained its bitter taste in his mouth. They could not shake off the terrible fact that, only minutes ago, they had been quietly bickering with a stranger on the inside of his carriage, and now all laid in death's chaotic wake.

It was so sudden, so unreal...

* * *

Dusk was falling peacefully over the world by the time they arrived in the town; all was painted a serene shade of blue, and the deep sky was glittering with the early evening's stars. A pleasant sound arose from the town's walls, and as they drew closer, they realized that the entire village was alight with lanterns, music, the scent of food, and entertainment. A festival was being held here--the only thing unclear was whether this was good thing for their needs. 

All the same, the joys of the villagers gave them an unexpected peace. The senseless clatter of instruments and the excited screams of people made them far more at ease than any silence could. But it also hit them with a wave of exhaustion; the atmosphere's life only reminded them of how little energy they had left.

The first business matter was finding a place to stay. This proved an easy task with the help of the crowds and their overeager assistance.

A few told them that another stranger had also showed up, and promised to introduce them both to this man. Zuko and Iroh knew who they spoke of: the driver of the carriage fled in this direction as well.

"He went to our hospital--we will take you there as well."

The commotion was well into a cacophony of bells and drums once they arrived at the hospital, but fortunately for their sanity, the hospital was not the epicenter of the village's festivities. The crowds had considerably thinned out and the lights had dimmed. There were only a few individuals remaining at the hospital, but they had practiced treating drunkenness for the larger part of the evening. None had expected strangers to come into town.

Neither Iroh nor Zuko had obtained any serious physical damage from the fight, so they thought their adventures would end abruptly. They hoped to go directly to bed, doze for a few hours, then set out again They couldn't afford to lose too much time--not with the Fire Nation on their heels.

But as usual, their plans didn't come through.

At the entrance, the two could see a tall man conversing with a villager. Iroh didn't appear concerned with the stranger and moved on to ask for a bed. But though Zuko could not recognize this man, he was sure it must be the driver of the cart.

The man ended his brief exchange with a tip of his hat, leading Zuko to wonder if this radically different-looking man was also from another area. He was clearly not a relative of Rais's--he was much taller, paler, and burlier in form--but he carried yet another foreign flavor.

This sturdy man turned and immediately set his eyes on Zuko, giving him a dimly familiar look. Before Zuko could follow through his uncle, the man walked over and proceeded to tower over him.

"Hey," he snapped, just as rudely as his master had done before. "Aren't you...?"

Zuko turned away and pretended not to hear, but the man would not be so easily set aside. He cut in closer by another step, allowing his size to take its full advantage of the situation. A more flimsy person would have been intimidated, perhaps terrified, by the man's height. Zuko just stared. "What do you want?" he demanded irritably.

"You're the two Master Rais picked up."

Zuko saw no point in lying about it. "Yes."

"Then... You fought the soldiers, didn't you? How did it go? Where's--"

"It wasn't a challenge," Zuko coldly uttered.

"Oh."

The driver glanced behind Zuko, then to his side, then back around his shoulder.

"Where's Master Rais?"

Zuko tried to walk past this man. He was tired of the questions and wanted to sleep. His stomach churned from his growing illness, and he knew some rest would cure it. Bothersome man, pitiful man--

"_I asked you a question_."

Zuko at last gave the man a direct look in the eyes, in an attempt to establish his dominance, but once he found how far he had to tip his head back to accomplish this glare, he decided that mulling and looking casually to the ground would have a more dramatic effect. He wished this man wouldn't bother him. If only this peasant knew who he really _was, _he wouldn't have to deal with the oppressive presence.

Zuko snorted and decided to grace the savage with an answer.

"He fell."

"Fell? Fell _where_?"

"I'm not sure. Down the cliff somewhere."

That effectively caused the man to take several steps backs--the driver was reeling, gawking at him in disbelief. "What, you mean... H-he's _dead_?"

"Maybe."

"_You didn't check? You just left him there?_"

"Honestly? It's not my problem."

Zuko was almost certain that this hulking man would strike him down right there, and didn't much care if he did. However, though the man did give him a terrible look, a surge of concern overrode the man's violent nature, and momentarily overlooked his messenger's rudeness to take action. He left without another word.

_- _

_Ugh..._

Zuko dragged himself to Iroh's side, ignoring the initial look of disapproval.

"You really shouldn't acted that way."

He paused and looked over his nephew's demeanor.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It's not like I don't see these sorts of things all the time..."

"No, I mean you still don't look well at all."

"I'm just tired."

He didn't understand where his illness was coming from. He had felt this sort of sickness plenty of times in his life, and it was an ordinary sort of feeling. He had become sea-sick before, eaten bad food, been stricken with the occasional mysterious and sudden condition. But none of these times had ever been compounded with the other symptoms he felt now. He had a headache that made his head feel ready to split, and a total loss of motor and visual skills.

His thoughts were swimming, even as they prepared for sleep. His conscience had almost bothered him before, when he directly witnessed those two deaths, but now that it was over, they seemed distant and unimportant. The power to snuff lives out was a strength held by many members of his family and nation--it was an impulse of sorts, an inheritable disregard. They could not be possessed by the "small things" of wars; individual lives were utterly non-existent to them. That was why they could so easily throw loyal soldiers into hopeless battles, and crush the lives of innocents. Before he had to face such choices, Zuko was appalled by their blindness to the significance of these people.

But in this battle, two lives had vanished like smoke, and he could not help but feel completely content over it. He was too sick to think of the matter much further. If he were well, he would have begun thinking of the implications of this: two lives. Two whole existences--two whole histories, people with families--perhaps the Fire Nation soldier had children--perhaps he had a wife awaiting his return... Two lives, just like his. All that he had experienced, dead twice over.

Gone. Effortlessly ended within seconds...

It was so real and yet so _unimaginable_.

-

They had nearly readied themselves for sleep, but they could hear a sudden commotion from outside. A crowd was driven into a near frenzy of panic and disregard, leading Iroh out the door and leaving Zuko undecided. He was not sure that he wanted to see what was causing such a fuss--he supposed it was the driver returning with a body.

Zuko did not want to see the body, but at the same time, he did not want to feel weak. To shy away from death would be childish--he was a man and death was supposed to be this glorious thing, an aspiration for the noble warrior. Yes, he thought. He would look death in the eyes and he would not falter.

The people were pressing hard on each other, fighting for a chance to approach the ostrich-horse and the ones on its back. The dryness of the earth led to a violent stir of dust, choking the countless numbers of wrestling people until the crowd was nothing but a coughing, tearful mob. Zuko maneuvered his way through the madness, hoping that at the center of the ring, there would be some degree of stillness. He was not used to having to fight for his right to push others aside--the villagers were equally eager to see what was going on and would respond to his shoving by elbowing past him. He wondered if he could mouth some lie, perhaps explain that he knew the man who was inevitably in the middle of this, but his voice was drowned out by the rampage.

He could barely breathe in the midst of this cloud of sand and scent of peasants. On every side, stray limbs were jabbing him, clawing at him, and crushing him mercilessly. It was a collective loss of conscience, and his already tenuous health was about to be the central victim.

Then, like a parting sea, the people divided before him. What passed was far from silence, but from that moment he could no longer hear the clatter of civilization. He looked on, seeing what he was expecting, but with one variable out of place. He had expected to see the driver returning with Rais's mangled corpse. But while it was certainly the driver who had returned, and it was certainly a body that he brought with him, it was not Rais.

Now he understood what all the commotion was about.

The driver had the gall to come back with an injured soldier.

All he could really see was the helmet clattering unceremoniously to the ground, and a limp arm flopping from the twisted bundle, bone snapped and exposed, flesh shredded like paper. Zuko then realized that he did not want to face death just yet.

_Where's Uncle?_ he absently wondered, turning and facing the deterioration of his body.

* * *

Iroh found his nephew retreating in the nearby alley, vomiting profusely and trying to stay out of sight. 

"Zuko, are you--?"

Iroh knew the question was a redundant one by now. His nephew spat, gasped, then hoarsely repeated himself. "I'm fine."

Iroh could not clearly see Zuko in the darkness, so he did not try to meet him eye-to-eye. He merely stood patiently nearby, listening to the heavy breathing and occasional grunts.

"Is it..."

Zuko gripped his stomach. "I don't think that drink sat with me well."

"Oh. Well... It isn't normal to get ill from one drink, but then again... You're a novice when it comes to spirits."

Zuko spewed again into the dirt; Iroh winced.

"Did you see the body?"

Zuko regathered himself, swallowed, then answered gruffly. "Yes."

"I see."

"It doesn't have... Anything to do with this."

"It was not a pleasant death..."

"I've seen death before."

"So have I, Prince Zuko, and witnessing it does not get easier. You can get used to death, but it is never easy."

"It still has nothing to do with this. The drink didn't sit well."

Iroh accepted the insistent answer and, after a brief well-wishing, left him alone.

-

"We can't! We can't have this!"

Blood was trickling uncontrollably along the hospital's floor. The workers and volunteering villagers were desperately trying to mop up the trail, dodging the blows of feet and barely avoiding being trampled by the incoming visitors.

The owner of the building was screaming at the driver. "Why did you bring him here? Do you know what will happen to us now?"

"His limbs are all broken. He is no danger to you."

"If he _dies_, he is a worse danger to us. We cannot have a Fire Nation soldier die on our soil! They will demand retribution!"

_Breathe, breathe..._ _Grab another cloth, dear, stop the bleeding at the back of his head--don't whimper, you've seen blood before._

Iroh managed his way into the lot, and as he witnessed this argument, he turned in shock to the bed where the soldier lay. _He isn't dead?_

But the body was concealed behind the multiple nurses anxiously pressing against the powerful flow of blood. At the height of their panic, unladylike curses were being emitted against death's vice grip. The younger girls, the ones who had only dealt with scrapes and bruises before, were weeping and trying to slip away before the others demanded assistance.

"What's going on?"

Iroh spun around, surprised that his nephew had recovered so quickly. "Prince Zuko..."

Zuko wiped his mouth with his wrist and looked over Iroh's shoulder. "What are the doing?"

"He didn't die, Zuko."

They didn't look each other in the eye--they merely looked in awe at the menacing spectacle. Zuko tried to feel something, but his heart felt obstructed and stiff. "Is he the one...?"

"I think so."

-

A woman was yelling at the top of her lungs, easily matching the noise that arose from the nurses.

"What were Fire Nation soldiers doing around here anyway? They never come around this way--"

The driver was being questioned on such matters, as he was guilty of bringing the dying man. The village was understandably panicked. If the soldier died, they could easily be blamed for it, and the soldier's very presence could prove dangerous.

But the driver dismissed these concerns. "You needn't worry."

"They followed _you_ here, didn't they? And now you bring the injured here and put us in danger!"

"Worry about saving his life for now."

The villager retreated eventually and submerged into the crowd.

Zuko stood in terrible awe, watching as every spare breath was spent on this dying soldier. When they had first entered the village, they were the center of attention, but now, no one even proffered glances in their direction. They had ceased to exist.

The driver was fidgeting and nearly turned to leave, but found Zuko in his way. The driver indignantly stood his ground.

"You want something?"

"Is Rais alive?"

The driver was shocked, apparently having not considered that Zuko would ask such a question. "Yes."

"How was he?"

"He... He was fine."

_How is it that a man wearing a full suit of armor came out worse than a man wearing no protection whatsoever?_

"He was talking... He told me to bring this one first."

The silence was untrue: the voices and cries made their moment of quiet retrospection impossible. And so Zuko walked away, and the driver quivered with excitement.

-

He could hear his uncle speaking with the driver, asking his name, chatting away. Eventually the driver excused himself, saying he had to go back and retrieve Rais and all the materials he had left behind.

Time was limping, bedraggled by the strike caused by this dying man's presence. It made this village all the more like animals, more instinctual and vicious--it awoke a swelling despair that Zuko fought to distance himself from. But the villagers still crowded against him and trapped him where he was. Leaving was impossible, as was attempting to catch sight of the source of their attention. The soldier was swamped with helpful bodies, surrounded by a strong wall of people composed of doctor and peasant alike.

Zuko felt frustrated by how little he could do. He felt impotent in the face of these disasters, when his actions were belittled to mere tantrums against the forces of nature. Death would not heed his warnings or cower to his threats. Death would just stare him in the eyes and proceed to gorge...

-

The driver was back, but no one noticed. Zuko only noticed his arrival because the man decided to return to hospital and check on the soldier's condition. He came in, powdered with dust, holding in his arms a bundle of confused cloth and straw.

The driver handed Zuko the hat first. "You left your hat," he stated pointlessly before giving him the bundle as well. "And your cloak."

"Where's Rais?"

"Oh," the driver resentfully sighed. "He's at another place. A private room, you see."

Zuko could tell from his voice that he had deliberately planned to house his master in a separate area--after Zuko's initial expression of apathy, the driver had ceased trusting him. The driver could barely tolerate standing in the same room with him.

"Ah--Wei, the ostrich-horse is outside," Iroh told him hurriedly, just before the man tried to weave his way back outside. The driver looked confused.

"Come again?"

"The ostrich-horse," the prince asserted impatiently.

"Never mind it. You can have it."

Zuko did not want to depend on this man's generosity, but he gracefully declined to object and the man disappeared from sight. Iroh scratched his chin absently and smiled. "Ah! How kind of them. That will take care of our transportation problem for now."

Zuko hastily placed his hat on his head--for what reason, he wasn't sure; it simply felt safer to hide beneath it--and lazily unfolded his cloak in hopes of slipping it on as well. As he opened it, a striking flash of white hit the floor, ringing out with a metallic crash. Startled by this unexpected fall, he looked down at it, realized it was a piece of cloth that had been inadvertently folded into his things, and stooped down to pick it up.

He lifted the cloth effortlessly, but saw the source of the clatter nestled beneath it: a knife now resting naked on the wooden floor, jarred from its sheath. He groped for it as well, but not before feeling the moistness of the cloth and seeing the glistening scarlet decorating the blade...

His heart skipped a beat. He gave the cloth a frantic look and saw that it was soaked with blood. He scooped up the knife, carefully inched it from its sheath, saw only more blood--

_What the--_

"Zuko, what's that?"

The prince lurched at the sound of his uncle's voice, crammed the knife back into its sheath and then back into the blood-stained cloth. He stood and tried hard to conceal his confusion. "Nothing. He just accidentally left it in my things."

To his relief, that satisfied his uncle's curiosity. Iroh went onto his own business, leaving Zuko right where he was, hiding a weapon that had fallen into his unwilling hands. His head went spinning. The blood was fresh, he could tell, and he could start to smell it, corrupting his clothing. He cursed subtly and wondered if he should return it or simply feign ignorance. What was a bloodied knife doing here anyway? He felt like he was holding a hot iron: he was desperate to get rid of it or drop it, but was not sure where he could place it without causing problems. He frantically looked about, growled, then went outside. Maybe he could bury it or casually place it somewhere with no risk of anyone knowing he had put it there. He could put it in someone else's things.

Oh, he didn't know, he just needed to get it away from him, far away. The smell was making him go mad and just holding the thing made him feel convicted of a crime, though he wasn't sure what the crime was. _Just get rid of it_, he thought.

So he did. The hospital's foundation was bordered with straw and dirt, so with a final act of desperation, he snagged up both the cloth and knife and stuffed it as deeply as he could into the straw. The night was dark, humid, and burning with activity--but he did not fear anyone seeing him in this abandoned alleyway. He kicked at the spot where he had concealed the thing, hoping it would settle and look natural. His common sense reminded him that no one would be digging around here anyway, at least not while he was here. He was safe now. The blood--well, there was some on his hands now, but he could wash it off. He patted himself down, tried to dust off the straw from his sweating body, huffed in the realization of how thick the night air had become. He left, feeling a bit silly as he thought over his reaction, but it didn't matter to him. The contaminated weapon was gone from his possession. He could breathe freely now.

But why was there a knife? This problem nagged him now. It had to be addressed.

His suspicions wouldn't leave him, so with no other resort, he went back into the hospital. The nurses had calmed down quite a bit--the soldier had stabilized and needed far less attention. With this opportunity, he strained to keep his eyes from the body and approached one of the nurses.

"...Excuse me..."

She looked up, no smile on her face, but was trying not to look absolutely miserable. "Yes?"

"I was wondering about the soldier... What sort of injuries did he have?"

She rubbed her temples, but obliged him with a heavy sigh and long list of problems. "He has broken bones pretty much everywhere... Head trauma... Knife wounds to the chest... Head trauma--"

"Knife wounds?"

She lazily opened an eye at him. "Where did you think the blood was coming from?"

"Uh..." He tried not to betray his horror and sputtered, "Thank you."

_- _

_No-no-no-no-no--_

_This couldn't be happening--_

-

Wei, as the driver was called, came back a short time later and tried to speak with Zuko. Zuko knew what he wanted but pretended not to have seen anything. He stared into Wei's eyes, and reveled in the anxiety and fear that he gave away.

"Hey, boy... When I gave you your cloak... Did you..?"

"Did I what?" Zuko inquired innocently. They stared for a moment, deeply apart on many levels, and Wei surrendered.

"Never mind."

Wei went onto Iroh, obviously feeling more comfortable with him. Now not only had Zuko shown his distaste for Wei's master, but now he had witnessed something of a secret.

"Master Rais wishes to tell you that he wants to extend his thanks."

"For what?" Iroh asked.

Wei bowed. "He did not specify. But he wishes to give you anything you need. We have already paid for your stay here."

Before either of them could respond, he handed Iroh the remains of their money.

"It isn't much, but it should get you through a few days."

"Oh, no, this really isn't--"

Wei again bowed, assuring them it was not a problem. "Master Rais does this often. He prefers to depend on the generosity of others--he does not horde material possessions."

"That is an interesting philosophy," Iroh mused. "Has it worked?"

Wei snorted with amusement. "People can surprise you. Master Rais may be young, but after working with him, I have been impressed by his wisdom."

"He said he wasn't a genius," Zuko interrupted callously, irritated by the driver's senseless worship.

"...It had to have taken _some_ sort of genius to fool the Fire Nation for so long, don't you think?"

* * *

They ate dinner in solace--Wei said that Rais had insisted they pay for the meal as well--but not long before Iroh went to sip tea with them. They tried to invite Zuko along, but he saw no reason to dine with such people. He did not want to associate with those who traded bloodied knives-- 

He growled and consumed his rice, struggling to subdue his stomach's complaints. He hadn't eaten all day, so he didn't have time to feel sorry for himself. The hospital had gone quiet after most of the villagers lost interest in the dying soldier. All who remained were the few nurses, dozing patiently and awaiting the soldier's passing.

The air was clouded with conflicting scents--the smell of blood was still strong, but now it was simmering along with the smell of hot food and drink. It didn't occur to Zuko that eating his meal so close to a dying man was irregular; no one objected, so he assumed his placement was proper.

His eyes wandered with his thoughts, and finally settled on the box of _baijiu_ that lay tucked between Uncle's various belongings. Wei had salvaged the box from the carriage's wreck and presented it to Iroh, though his uncle expressed some concern on what to do with it. They could sell it, he decided: _baijiu_ was quite the delicacy and could probably earn them a few meals.

But Zuko's initial buzz had worn off and he was beginning to wake up to the terror before him. Panic rose up inside of him, doubling up to compensate for its suppression, and suddenly he was scrambling for a means to push it down again. He needed to choke it out, drown it, keep it down just long enough for him to gather his bearings. He couldn't handle all of this now. He couldn't manage knowing that he would never go home again, that his father shunned him; that his life would inevitably end up being just like this man's, a corrupted existence stranded in an ocean of death, poverty, and desperation...

He didn't want to deal with it right now.

Maybe later.

But not now.

Could he sleep?

-

Zuko could hear two noises once he lay on his bed, and as he closed his eyes, the sounds distinguished themselves.

On one side of him, a group of drunken or otherwise excitable youth gathered at the doorway. From the persistent giggling that took place, he guessed the group was exclusively composed of girls and he wondered absently what they could possibly want. They were whispering among themselves, watching the handsome stranger curiously.

At the same time, a woman was standing over the wounded soldier, who lay in a bed on the other side of the room. She was speaking low and soft, as though this would keep others from hearing, but her voice carried well in the hollowness of the room.

She was speaking to another. "I don't know," she said. "I have great doubts that he will survive the night. His breathing is shallow, and..."

The murmurs of death and the listless laughter from naïve young became inseparable. They, for a time, could not hear each other, and so they spoke on, merging inadvertently into one monstrosity. Zuko did not care for either collection of sounds. Death and love were the same to him; they were evidence of human weakness and were thus undesirable.

"_Girls_, can't you see our visitor needs rest?"

The girls apologized, gave him a final look of longing, and went on their way with a collective sigh.

Zuko felt his vision spin and fail him, so he shut his eyes and forced himself to sleep.

* * *

The night was so beautiful. 

Iroh murmured approvingly of the man and tea before him, graciously taking in more of the drink. Wei did not look like a gentle man, but Iroh could tell from his choice of words just how frail he was in spirit. He spoke overeagerly, shied without provocation, and did whatever he could to avoid difficult topics.

But at least he was kind.

"And how long have you worked for him?"

Wei shifted. "Oh... Oh, several years now. I met him not long after he was declared dead."

"Is it interesting work?"

The man made a face, but it passed too quickly for Iroh to thoroughly read it. "...Sometimes. I mostly take care of his belongings and manage the transport."

"Sounds honorable."

"It can be." Wei smirked. "My master is a criminal, you know. It would be best not to get too involved."

Iroh did not look surprised or deterred; he only smiled. "We have had our own run-ins with the law. It is nothing we haven't gotten used to."

But Wei looked thoroughly unconvinced. He imitated the general's enthusiasm weakly, then slumped back into discomfort, feeling his various thoughts moodily striking out at him. "Well, Rais hasn't eaten... I should probably go tend to him."

The night was beautiful, but Iroh could not quell his anxious heart. Every moment that passed, he thought of the soldier and hoped fervently that he would survive. Iroh knew that Zuko felt this way as well, though the young man would not admit it. Zuko never had the chance to be hardened by true instances of war; he had played about in various imitations, but he was unfamiliar with certain savageries. Iroh understood his nephew's eagerness to plunge into the world of warfare (such is the folly of youth), but he also understood why his nephew had so suddenly withdrawn. He had gone in quickly, expected it to be easy, but found that these brutalities were not all that men confessed them to be.

Zuko, even if he didn't quite realize it, was being destroyed by guilt. His mind was easing him with thoughts of apathy and surrender, but these defenses were temporary. Beneath his apparent carelessness, Zuko was aware that he had killed that soldier: even if he thought the death was justified, there was no cure for this awakening. Death was in him, of him.

Iroh had felt that before; Iroh understood.

-

Iroh returned to the hospital, but to his surprise, his nephew was no longer there. He was reasonably distressed by his disappearing act. He knew Zuko wasn't well and so he didn't know why he would be up and about in his condition. Besides, the other times Zuko had disappeared, items would mysteriously appear in their possession, and suspicious new enemies would be earned.

He paced in the hospital, but was wearied by the multiple glances that slipped to the wounded soldier. He sat down and tried not to worry. He knew his nephew was a capable young man, even when he wasn't in his right mind.

Then he spotted the box they had been given, and noticed that its cover was askew. Iroh opened it fully only to find that one of the bottles of alcohol was missing.

Iroh would have questioned it, but a more important matter arose in the form of a stirring from a long slumber. The stability of the Fire Nation soldier broke; the hull had been breached and all scrambled to try to keep the thick waves of foam from consuming everything--

The burst did not allow Iroh any time to speak proverbially or think wisely. All he could do was sit, listen to the desperation in which the men and women tried to save the man's life, and silently begged the spirits to intervene.

* * *

Had he the resources, Zuko would have sought out a more ideal spot to nearly drink himself to death. He huddled in plain view of the villagers, clutching protectively to the bottle that he declared he had hated, and tried not to mind the fact that if they really wanted to, they could watch him intently. He didn't want to be the center of attention--he just wanted to drink himself into a stupor until he had the idiocy necessary to confront the foreigners. 

He gagged with every sip, but it became a compulsion, and even as he cringed at the taste of it, he would return to it only for the promise of mental silence.

The sensations in his body were new, but they were entirely welcome. The tingling, the grogginess, the ever-growing lack of concern about _anything_--

The more he drunk, the less he cared about what had happened. He lost the motivation to move, to find out why those men had stabbed the soldier so violently. He thought that, maybe, he'd be happy just sitting here all night, feeling himself deplete.

The fire inside of him would not stand for the decision, however. He stood up and walked, feeling stronger than ever, even though in reality every step he took was crooked. It was much like his normal way of life: he continued, blind of how badly he was conducting himself. It was his perpetual paradox; he was caught up in a cycle of pride and shame that threatened to destroy him. He was aware and ashamed of his failures yet he was unable to understand what he was doing so wrong.

But even if he made these mistakes over and over, he would stand up and try again... And that was the one thing that gave him strength...

* * *

Rais did not have any qualms about being spoon-fed; it was a necessity that he faced often. Wei could swear at times that he _enjoyed_ it, if only because it earned him more careful attention. 

For a man who had gone through so much in one day, Rais could sure keep up a dreadfully perky mood. He babbled incessantly whenever food was not forcibly crammed into his mouth, and would do his best to move about despite his tightly-bandaged body.

"You like the old man, huh?"

Rais was given a spoonful of soup and Wei answered once he started to thoughtfully sip at it. "He seems to be nice--Master Rais, don't sip at it, just--" Wei forced it into his mouth irritably.

"Hgghn."

"You have terrible manners."

Rais pursed his lips and the spoon was removed. "Did you find the knife?"

"...No."

"You're such an awful servant. I should fire you."

Wei arched an eyebrow and stuffed another spoonful into Rais's mouth. He was used to the threat, and knew better than to ever take it seriously. He could always tell from the way Rais ogled him that getting rid of him was the furthest thing from his mind. Rais was simply too fond of him.

A thought struck Rais.

"Did _Suko_ ask about me?"

Wei didn't want to answer, because he knew how Rais would respond. He gruffly told him instead, "He hates you and doesn't care about you. He told me so."

"--But he asked about me."

Wei sighed with conviction. "...Yes."

"Ah. Then he must be _madly_ in love with me, you think?"

Wei frantically shut him up with another spoonful of food, cursing under his breath. "...After you're done eating, I'm having the doctor examine your head."

-

The stars were stabbing at the back of his neck, singing shrilly, swimming through his consciousness like an ocean of sparkling diamonds--

Every sense he had was dulled and numb, like limbs that were bound too tightly with rope, but this lack of feeling did not stop him from searching earnestly.

Zuko stopped momentarily, leaning on the side of a building to regain his balance. He caught sight of the piercing gaze of a pair of molasses-brown eyes, and he felt fear rise in him. These eyes were watching him, examining him carefully, and his thoughts raced to decide what it wanted. _It knows who I am,_ he thought. _It knows I'm from the Fire Nation. It knows I am Prince Zuko. It knows I am exiled, and that I killed a man today._

But his drunken, paranoid mind proved to be deceptive. He blinked and found that it was only a scruffy peasant child, staring at him dumbly and baring its space-riddled set of teeth as it chewed on a dumpling. The mother quickly pulled the thing away, and Zuko was grateful. He didn't want to see the faces of children now--he just wanted to concentrate on finding his way.

The only obstacle he had to face was the collective ignorance of the foreigners' existence. The locals, when inquired, would look puzzled and demand more information; few were willing to simply allow Zuko to move on. They were too eager to help, Zuko decided disdainfully. He wisely ignored much of their advice and instead directed his questions towards the location of any inns.

That helped. He stood at the doorway of the inn, hearing words but not comprehending them, knowing they were inside.

He almost retreated. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do or say, so why even try? But alcohol gave him the stupidity he needed. All he had to do was trust his instincts and all would fall into place.

-

"..._Suko_?"

Rais and Wei had almost completely missed Zuko's presence. It was only when the bottle hit the floor and rolled across the planks that they noticed him standing, ogling.

Wei tried to tell him to leave; Rais only laughed at the violent flush of red that overwhelmed Zuko's features. "Aye, you're _drunk._"

"So?" Zuko blurted, succeeding in looking thoroughly offended by the observation. "I don't care. I don't think you care."

The exiled prince tried to grope for the bottle, but much of the drink had spilled out over the floor, so once he recovered it there was not much of a reward. Zuko felt relieved in knowing that the alcohol's remains had been ruined and the temptation could no longer stare him in the face.

"Boy, go _home._"

Zuko snorted and forced the last drops from the bottom of the bottle, emptying it into his gaping mouth.

"How much of that thing did you _drink_? You would have killed yourself trying to down the whole thing."

Rais talked too much, Zuko concluded before steadying himself. "I don't have to do anything you say."

"Why are you here? If you don't have--"

"I found the knife."

Wei, who had been silent this whole time, made a distinctly aghast noise, as though ready to fall ill. Rais, almost mechanically, ran through a set sequence of detached emotions: first he looked shocked, then angry, then weary, and then, at last, right back to his initial amusement. And for all of the drama that flourished in his expressions in those few moments, all he could manage to say was, "I see."

Zuko was enraged by his apathy, even though he knew from the beginning this was how he would react. "I know what you did," he said, almost with a touch of glee at having found Rais's flaw. It was a vulnerable blemish and Zuko was eager to take advantage of it. "Why are you just sitting there?"

Rais blinked. "I cannot move."

"I think you don't want to, either."

"Does it really matter, _Suko_?"

"I think it does. He's dying, and I know how you did it--"

Wei was overcome with fright. "Get out of here! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Wei," Rais clucked confidently. "Step outside for a moment, please."

This was unexpected for both parties. Wei looked prepared to butt heads and refuse to obey, but the sight of Rais's weak demeanor diffused this intent. He gave Zuko an accusing look, preferring to blame him for this indignity, and brushed past him. He muttered something threatening, but Zuko did not pay him or his threat any mind. He knew now: this man tried to be terrifying and used his size accordingly, but in reality he was not an obstacle. He was tightly reined by his master; as long as Rais did not set Wei loose, the man would not do as much as nip at their enemies.

Zuko tried not to react to the fact that he was now standing alone in this foreigner's presence, hearing his husky voice spin stories and lies. _How much of his original story was true?_ Zuko wondered. _Maybe he never knew my grandfather. Maybe he's never been to the Fire Nation at all. Maybe he's just patently insane and survives by perpetuating falsehoods and rumors._

"_Suko_, tell me what happened."

Zuko growled, but his confusion was obvious. "...What do you _mean_ what happened? I found the knife--"

"What knife?"

"_The _knife. The one you used to stab him with--"

"I don't know anything about a knife. Where did you find it?"

The prince was vexed by the man's cool composure and blatant lie. "It was in my robes when your _servant_ handed them back to me! It was covered in blood!"

"And?"

"You killed him!"

"Who's to say?" Rais coolly spoke to him, betraying nothing. "How do you know it was our knife? How do you know we killed him?"

Zuko didn't understand. The evidence was clear--it was _impossibly _clear! "I just know!" he howled in frustration. "Quit avoiding the issue!"

"I don't think you have anything of value to say."

"Shut up!" Zuko was beginning to see what game Rais was trying to play, and he was too exhausted to endure it. "I'm not like _them;_ you can't just throw me off with your tricks! I know what happened and I'm not going to just _fall into your hands_ like everyone else does!"

Rais, instead of ignoring the rant as Zuko was sure he would do, stared at him and considered his words carefully. After a moment's thought, he nodded apologetically. "I can see that now."

Zuko huffed, whirled. How much longer would this take? Every inch of him screamed for this man's death. He hated Rais so thoroughly and with such mind-boggling passion that he was sure he would burst at any moment.

"Look... I don't know what you want me to tell you. It is all quite unpleasant, you see."

"You didn't have to--!" Zuko began before being hastily interrupted.

"No, _Suko_, it was quite necessary.

"Look around you! What did you notice about these people when you first arrived--what changed the moment the dying man arrived? They ignore us now! It is our unique practice, you see... Dying men always gain the attention.

"You should thank us, boy. There's no telling what I may have had to do if those soldiers hadn't come along. I like to have at least _one_ body on my hands."

Zuko gave him a crass look of disbelief.

"What, you thought I picked you up for some _witty banter_? Though I must say, that soldier was a pretty terrible selection. He kept whimpering, begging for his life... What a weak man--what did he think his ultimate fate would be? He's a soldier; soldiers die pointlessly every day."

Rais laughed to himself, irking Zuko all the more. The prince tried to convince himself that Rais was speaking boastful lies, that this man was merely trying to scare him off with baseless confessions. How else could someone be so content with this kind of cowardly homicide? But Zuko could not help but picture what Rais told him: an injured man pinned to the ground helplessly by his broken body, watching as another man towered over him, stooped down, grabbed him by the scalp, ignored his ardent pleas to be spared, proceeded to bash and slice--

Why did this crime ring so strongly in his mind? Zuko knew he had faced similar inhumanities before, but for some reason, it was the carelessness, the forcefulness, the _prevalence_ of this violence that made it harder to accept. Rais had not only killed that man, but felt nothing over it, and had committed murders before with the same fervor. Zuko could remember entering this village with that path of destruction at their back, and now he realized what that path was: it was nothing less than the remnants of Rais' _life_, his entire livelihood. The path of this foreigner and the path of chaos were one in the same.

Death was in Zuko, and now he could see how clearly and how long death had been in Rais. Anarchy possessed them both--it was the demon they shared between them, and it was another similarity for which Zuko despised him.

He tried to vow to never become this man, but a part of him wondered, _have I already become him?_

He used words to continue this spiritual battle that even he was unsure of.

"It isn't right."

"How is that?"

"You killed him!"

"_You _were the one who pushed him off the cliff."

Zuko turned around, intent on leaving.

"You are _nothing_ like your father," Rais mused aloud. "He never let himself get caught up in webs such as guilt."

-

Zuko knew in that instant what he was facing. Whatever it was, it was not human, and it was not worth his quickly-fading attention. He gawked, fumbled, and acted untouched while he retreated back into the streets.

On the way back to the hospital, Zuko threw up again on the side of the road. It came quickly--he almost didn't have time to amble out of the crowded street's way before spewing. This time, he could feel people watching him, but strangely he didn't feel embarrassed, even when a few snickered at his plight. It was an evening of a festival and people were expected to be drunk, so in a way, it pleased him to know that for once, he was looked on as a typical case. No one was pitying him: they were only looking on and nodding with conclusive understanding. He was feeling, for the first time, the sting of brutal normality.

* * *

He entered the hospital to find it empty and abandoned. 

The bed where the the dying soldier had been was empty...

A nurse came in through the back, carrying the Fire Nation helmet silently. She saw him, but offered only a slight glance. That was all he needed. He understood.

-

The bloodied bed was quickly attended to; Zuko looked for his uncle. It did not take long.

"Zuko--"

"So he...?"

"Yes."

He paid no heed to the sensation he had, even though it drove him to feel as though he was rapidly falling.

"He was suffering," Iroh offered fruitlessly, but it didn't really matter.

-

Zuko found where the body had been stowed. The villagers had carefully wheeled it off into a private room, covered it with clean linen. He allowed himself to be amused by the dignity they were giving this man, a nameless soldier from their enemy nation. Zuko heard his uncle at his back, advising him to stay out of the room, but a final compulsion grabbed him. He strode so quickly that Iroh could not gather his bearings fast enough to object--he slid open the door, walked up to the body, and pulled back the cloth.

Zuko wasn't sure how long he had stood there, staring hard and fully into the corpse, but even it was only for a moment, it felt like an eternity. Somehow, he didn't feel revolted. His emotions were wasted on alcohol, and so his heart seemed impenetrable. He was tired. He didn't care about the coppery scent, the stiff, freakish expression on the man's dead face. All he cared was that he could confess to himself that he had indeed seen this.

He gazed, leaned in closer, examined the obscure details so that he did not have to take it in all at once. He noticed a scar at the man's forehead, a lock of hair out of place, an eyelash. He ignored the completeness of the dead man, so it didn't really feel important to him. It was just a puzzle, a collection of pieces arranged together, not a horrific testimony to all men of their ultimate fate.

He set the cloth back and stepped away once a nurse told him to. He told himself that he had stared at the corpse with fearlessness, but in a way, that was a lie. He didn't look at the body. He had cheated. He looked at the neutral, felt nothing for it, and pretended that he had envisioned the concept in its entirety. But he hadn't viewed death quite yet...

Iroh would not, or perhaps could not, speak to him the rest of the evening.

-

He heard the villagers debating what to do with the soldier's body. It was Earth Kingdom tradition to bury their dead, while the Fire Nation preferred cremation. They were unsure whether to simply follow their own ways or give this unknown man special treatment and give him what his own country would have given.

He didn't know what their decision ultimately was, but he hoped that they chose to take the extra step. Zuko had never liked the idea of being buried. The thought of worms and insects eating one's body inside and out was enough to make him ill. Being underground was too lonely for a body, he thought. It was far better to let the flesh go up in smoke, drift freely into the air, permeate through the atmosphere with its stink.

These new thoughts gave him an even more troubled sleep. The day infested his dreams with ghosts, flesh-hungry vermin, the dark isolation of being buried in soil... He swatted carelessly into the air above him, driving away angry spirits who were insistent on trying to steal him away. But he refused--he would not die! He would live forever!

Just wait and see...

* * *

Rais started mumbling, his broken body shifting across his bed. He spoke sorrowfully, "I wish _Suko_ liked me. He's such a nice-looking boy." 

Wei paid no heed to his complaining. He was used to Rais's abstract modes of thought and his equally distressing lack of verbal restraint. Rais was a man who said whatever came to mind, whether or not his thoughts were appropriate for nearby ears.

"But, that is all right," the foreigner resigned. "Young men ruin me, after all."

-

The horde of attractive young girls skipped into the room, giggling and clasping hands. They appeared lost, or at least out of place, but were completely oblivious to their surroundings. So, they were a typical group of young women, wandering aimlessly through a town with no place to go. They didn't notice Rais was there.

For that painful moment, Rais sat up in the bed, limbs pulsing with violent pain, and anxiously looked about the house. He looked like a suddenly lonely adolescent, and in an act of desperation, he pursed his lips and shakily whistled in their direction. He wanted the girls to maybe, for just a second, turn their heads and see him, maybe even smile and wave--

But the girls were deeply absorbed in the commotion of the present, and did not hear his raspy call for attention. Rais could feel his existence wane before him, but he knew better than to think such pretty girls would ever be able to see him. They had options, options with living men. Of course they had no interest in a man who is not alive...

His mind panicked arbitrarily; it wanted attention and love and companionship, so even when he knew it was useless, he kept on whistling, clinging to his hopeless dreams.

The girls all burst into an unrelated laughter and ran outside.

Rais could not accept the failure, but after a moment he realized Wei was standing beside him, chiding him and warning him against bothering local females.

"You know how much trouble that caused us last time."

Wei didn't understand. Rais was well aware of the dangers, but this existence he led was an exhausting one. The only girls who would ever pay attention to him were prostitutes, but they made him weary with their classlessness and greed. He wanted a genuine girl, one who was innocent and friendly. He would fantasize about that sort of girl, and about the life he would lead with her if he were still alive.

Oh, how he wished, at times, to live normally.

But this was his fate and in the end, he was willing to embrace it. Obscurity was the safest haven for a dead man, trying though it may be to support. He wondered if the boy, Zuko, would join him in this obscurity if he asked him. He was sure that Zuko would not--the prince not only despised him, but could not appreciate the delicate state of being dead. Zuko was a proud young man, and Rais knew that the proud could not help but fling themselves about and be noticed.

_Poor fool, _he affectionately doted. He could feel Wei's strong arm around his shoulders. He sighed heavily in resignation and heard his friend's peaceful voice.

"Are we going, then?"

Rais smiled. "Yes, and I can't wait."

-

No money, no food, no drink, no cloaks or jewelry. They were on the road in the glimmering twilight, free from the shackles of life, owning nothing but the clothes they wore and the animal they rode.

Rais knew he would never see Iroh or Zuko again, and that if he did, he would be a different man to them anyhow. That was how his life worked--people would meet him and forget his face moments later. By tomorrow, the two wouldn't remember his name.

He sank in the saddle, breathed in, realized that things could only get better, and knew he was the solitary owner of this remarkable blessing.

* * *

The next morning, Zuko woke up to a distinct smell, and he recognized it immediately. 

It was the pungent stench of burning flesh.


End file.
